


Stand with me; we’ll fight the war

by shedrovemehere



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: I am an adult, M/M, but it happens, flowery language used to avoid writing smut, idk i don't at core enjoy writing smut, the sequel no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 14:13:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shedrovemehere/pseuds/shedrovemehere
Summary: After being betrayed by the Bullet Club and tenuously reunited with Kota, Kenny's emotions are a big ol' mess. The Bullet Club is going to be looking for him, so he seeks somewhere safe, but safety's not uncomplicated.





	Stand with me; we’ll fight the war

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Awake O Sleeper](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/340059) by Tumblr User @face-turn. 



> **Warning:**  Oral sex is performed on someone who’s sleeping. Consent could be fairly safely inferred, but is not given, because asleep.  
>   
> You should probably read the work this is inspired by! This is the aftermath of that story, which ended like this:  
> 
>
>>   
>  _“Fuck you,” Kenny said when he’d scraped some amount of his brain off of the floor and Kota had removed his hands from Kenny’s general person. “These tights are cool, please let me suck your dick.”_
>> 
>> _Kota wiped his dirty hand on Kenny’s tights, maintaining eye contact the entire time, then kissed him sweetly on the mouth. “Will you come back to my hotel?” He asked, so innocent he suddenly looked like the golden boy that the crowd thought he was. Kenny blinked, blinded for a moment._
>> 
>> _“I– yes? I need to shower.” Kenny felt emotionally whiplashed. He was worn out from wrestling a painful, drawn-out match, and even more worn out from having messy emotions and then an equally messy orgasm. “But yes. I want.. I want to. We should talk.”_
>> 
>> _“We will.” Kota said, helping Kenny to his feet and helping him take pressure off his bad knee. “Afterwards.”_  
> 
> 
> @face-turn said to me later "i really hope Kota got his blow job" and I was like "I love you tumblr user @face-turn, even more than I hate writing smut." 

* * *

 

A shower and some time with the medical staff had afforded Kenny some time to think, but his mind still wasn’t much clearer than it had been an hour before. He could barely believe that two hours ago, half the Bullet Club had left him to suffer in a puddle of his own blood, and fifteen minutes after that, he’d been kissing Kota. He still wasn’t completely sure he hadn’t imagined that. When he’d come back to the locker room to grab his stuff after getting his knee looked at, his gym bag had been neatly zippered shut, and there was a single, shiny bullet sitting on top of it. If he hadn’t been still reeling from the whiplash of feeling just about every emotion in his arsenal, he would have laughed defiantly in case anyone was around to hear him. As it was, though, he’d just stared blankly at a threat he’d been on the other side of countless times. He knew tonight would be dangerous.

But here he was, carefully making his way into the hotel, hoodie up, falling in with larger group of people so as not to be noticeable. He couldn’t risk letting the Bullet Club see him here (or anywhere); even if some of them were still loyal, it was clear now that some of them definitely _weren’t_ , and he knew _at best_ they’d be watching him closely. At worst… well, he wasn’t too stupid to be afraid, or too proud to admit it. As he quickly bypassed the front desk, he realized he’d partially rationalized coming here with the fear that it wasn’t safe to be at home. But just because he’d used it to rationalize a potentially more terrible decision didn’t mean he was wrong. His knee being busted up meant he couldn’t take the stairs instead of the elevator to stay out of sight, and at that thought, he remembered bittersweetly that he and Kota had once been very good at sneaking around hotels. Kota must have remembered too; when Kenny knocked once, the door opened instantly, and Kenny hurried in silently.

Kenny didn’t know what he’d expected; maybe immediate lusty roughness, but instead Kota just closed the door behind them and smiled almost nervously, staring at Kenny intently. Kenny was always a little bit breathless when he hadn’t prepared himself for the way Kota looked at him. Looked _through_ him. There was never anywhere to hide, Kenny now remembered, far too late.

“How’s your knee?” He offered a shoulder in case Kenny needed somewhere to lean. He didn’t really, but he took it anyway, and Kota walked him into the room, helping him to sit down on the bed.

“It… uh, it really hurts.” Kenny was so foggy still, he’d hoped he’d at least gain some clarity by being around Kota. Earlier he’d been grateful when all his roiling emotions and sensations had distilled themselves down to _don’t ever, ever take your hands off me._ He’d even been grateful, in a way, for the fear that drove him here, but now his brain felt soupy again. If he needed clarity, at least the choice between fear and arousal was easy to make, even if it wasn’t quite organic. _Not the worst thing to fake._ “I think you said there was something we needed to do, here,” he put on what he hoped was his sexiest smirk, and moved his hands to the waistband of Kota’s pants.

Kota shivered as Kenny’s hands found the soft skin under his shirt, but froze: “are you sure, Kenny-tan?” Kenny’s chest fluttered at _Kenny-tan,_ and he was terrified at how much power Kota still had, how little it took to make him melt, even now. “I liked the plans you had for this evening,” Kota smiled sweetly, his hands finding Kenny’s wrists, “but are you… okay?”

 _I really, really want to suck your dick, but I’m not okay, no._ Kenny kept trying to cut through the fog in his brain. “I said I was going to…” He slowly moved his hands to Kota’s ribs.

Kota breathed in deeply, and closed his eyes, then squeezed Kenny’s wrists tightly, stopping him. “Don’t.” It was like they’d agreed earlier: Kenny was terrible at lying to Kota. “You’re _not_ okay, Kenny-tan.” Kota sighed, reluctantly removing Kenny’s hands from his sides.

Kenny had come here steeled for the possibility that sex was all Kota wanted, but as much as he hated to admit it, the assurance that Kota cared about Kenny’s well being was what he’d needed far more. He let his hands drop to Kota’s sides and crumpled forward, resting his head on Kota’s hip. _Probably not very polite of me to have my face right here._ He briefly wondered if Kota was hard but decided to stick to comfort for the moment, and Kota trailed a hand down the middle of his back. It felt like it always had; like nothing could possibly be more soothing in the world. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

Kota sighed. “I’m an idiot.” Kenny waited for more, but that was all he said, as he ran his fingers gently over Kenny’s neck, over the scrapes and bruises Kenny had begged him to leave there earlier.

Kenny wrapped his arms around Kota’s thigh. “You’re the best idiot.” Before he really knew what he was doing, he was squeezing Kota’s leg as hard as he could, holding back tears, realizing how afraid he’d been of the Bullet Club’s threat. “Thank you,” was all he could manage to whisper without giving himself away. Kota paused, and was very still. Kenny wondered if he’d gone too far, gotten too familiar, or if that had been an insulting thing to say; he could see where it might be, now that he thought about it, _oh god_ …

“Oh Kenny. The Bullet Club…”

 _Oh, that._ Kenny sat up. “Yeah,” he sighed, “let’s just say I’m glad I’m not home tonight.” He'd hoped to keep Kota as far away from this situation as possible; the fact was, the more Kota knew, the more danger he’d be in. It was one small part of why Kenny had pushed Kota away with so much finality, years ago: anything would have been easier than convincing the Bullet Club he no longer cared about Kota. That was always his one vulnerability, the one thing he knew they could use to ruin him, if they wanted to. And maybe now they wanted to… _Oh fuck. Oh no._ He suddenly felt very stupid. “I have to get out of here. I never should have come here.” He started to stand up, but pain laced through his knee, and he crumpled back onto the bed.

“What? You just said you couldn’t go h—“

“No. No, now _you’re_ in danger too, I’m so stupid, I was so tired, I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry, I—“

“Do you honestly think they’d look for you _here_?” Kota looked annoyed and skeptical.

Kenny shot Kota a helpless glare. _How could you be so oblivious, Kota? Don’t make me say it._

“You’re being paranoid. Why in the world would the Bullet Club care about me? What do—“

“ _Kota!_ Because they know I…” Kenny let himself trail off. _I’m not going to breathe another syllable of that sentence. Not tonight._

Kota’s expression was unknowable, but he nodded once. “Well…” he sighed, “then we’re both safer here, together, right?” Kota was, of course, absolutely correct. _Together._ Kenny slumped back into the comfort of Kota’s lap; in his exhaustion it was the only thing he wanted to do, and he didn’t have the tact not to do it.

The exhaustion was nothing new; he’d been running on fumes for longer than he could remember, and at this point he didn’t remember the last time he felt rested. But now Kenny realized that his mind was oddly still, and that _was_ new. His stomach flipped a little when it dawned on him that the stillness was because, as Kota had said, he was _safe_ here. Another terrifying reminder he didn’t need of how much access Kota still had to the most tender and vulnerable parts of him. But in the quiet warmth, he knew bone-deep that he didn’t need to worry about the Bullet Club or his career or his knee. The deepest calm he’d ever known, visceral and primal, accessible as though there wasn’t a chasm between them. As though he even fucking _deserved_ to be laying in Kota’s lap, having his hair stroked. He didn’t, he knew, but he all he could do was take in the familiar sweet silence in his mind like he was gasping for breath. The constant vigilance and anxiety had bled him dry long before tonight's match and the subsequent events, and now that he could let his guard down, he finally felt it all in one violent wave.

“I’m so sorry, Kota.” Kenny let out a little sob from the overwhelming mixture of relief and shame he felt, laying in Kota’s lap. It was all he could do to speak without letting out the cascade of sobs threatening to seize his chest. “I don’t think I could ever tell you how sorry. I’ve been--”

Kota sighed impatiently. “I don’t care how sorry you are.” He sounded as fed up as he’d sounded in the locker room; tired and exasperated. “You think I couldn’t see what happened to you, what you became? Look what they’re doing to you! Much worse than any revenge I could have dreamed up. You look like _shit_.”

Kenny sat up again in stunned silence, wiping away tears. Kota wasn’t normally so blunt, and it was especially jarring given the tenderness of the preceding moments. Between the exhaustion, dizzying emotional swerves, and relief, some kind of tears were again welling in Kenny’s eyes. “I’m _sorry._ I told you before, I wish I could—“

“ _Useless_ to me,” Kota spat, uncharacteristically coldly, covering his face with his hands in frustration. He sat like that for a few moments, then sighed deeply, speaking through his hands, as if it took all his energy to say what he needed without losing it. “I’ve been hurting for a long time. I want to be done hurting.”

That _sliced_. Kenny had long hated himself for what he’d done, but to hear Kota say _I want to be done hurting,_ like he was powerless, like he had no idea how much of Kenny’s heart he still had in his hands... somehow that made the weight of years of grief Kenny had caused bitterly apparent. Bewildered and dazed, Kenny could only stupidly repeat the only thought he’d had for the past several minutes: “I’m sorry.”

Kota made a defeated noise and again met Kenny’s eyes, like he could see all the gears and springs that made him work, like he could read every fear and vulnerability. Really, Kenny never had been 100% sure he _couldn’t_. He took Kenny’s hands, almost shaking them, speaking very deliberately. “I don’t need you. To be sorry. Anymore.”

“What _do_ you need, then?” As the words spilled out of his mouth he despaired at the realization that he’d still be willing to do _anything_ for Kota, that after everything, Kota still held that much sway.

Kota’s face softened, and he leaned his forehead on Kenny’s shoulder, still holding both hands. “Ask me again later, when you’re not delirious.” Relief washed over Kenny again, with that assurance that there would be a _later,_ that he would get more than a fleeting chance to say what he’d needed to say for three years. He leaned his cheek on the top of Kota’s head, and found that some energy still remained to him for self-loathing, but not enough to push away the one person in the world who could ease his mind just by being close, not when he needed peace more than air. He kissed the top of Kota’s head, and before he could register what was happening, Kota’s mouth was on his, pressing his head back against the headboard. It wasn’t the kind of breathless lust Kenny had expected, but the message was similar: _the words we need to say are complicated, and this never has been._

The kiss lingered a little until Kota broke away, smiling. Then he somewhat abruptly took off his t-shirt, threw it toward his suitcase, moved back the sheets and comforter, and got into bed. _Really? Now?_ Kenny must have looked as startled as he felt, because Kota laughed and said, “you need sleep, dumbass.” _I can’t remember ever in history being relieved that he didn’t want to fuck me, but it’s a day of firsts, I suppose._ Kenny shrugged; he knew this should feel awkward, but it didn’t. He knew he should say… something, but he didn’t. He took off his hoodie and t-shirt, then got under the covers with Kota; head on Kota’s chest, snuggled up as close as he could get. Kota’s arms slid around his waist, so familiar it was almost unbearable. Kota was always warm, always smelled so good, and even with all those heartbreakingly perfect muscles, he was always soft and snuggly somehow. He squeezed Kenny to him, and Kenny was asleep within seconds.  

The room was hazy and unfamiliar as he woke up, and it took Kenny a moment to remember where he was. No, this was not a dream, he actually _was_ in a hotel bed curled tightly against Kota, listening to him breathe, feeling his chest rise and fall. Kota must have turned the light out after Kenny fell asleep, because it was dark, and only the city lights flooded in from outside like moonlight. He couldn’t tell what time it was, but he’d slept long enough and soundly enough to at least string two thoughts together again.

Kota had always been a _very_ heavy sleeper, and Kenny smiled to himself as he remembered pranks he used to play, like moving him to the couch, or putting different clothes on him than he’d fallen asleep in. But he remembered, too, that sometimes on nights when he couldn’t sleep, he’d listen to Kota breathe, like he was doing now, and softly tell him all the cheesy secrets he’d never say otherwise—in English, just to be safe. Delivering a Touching Monologue in the quiet dark was a surprisingly comforting and effective way to sort out his feelings.

“I’m not delirious anymore. Tell me what you need.” Kenny hadn’t expected him to answer, and he didn’t. “I’m not the same person who hurt you. Not that you have any reason to believe me. I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to fuck off forever.” Kenny propped himself on one arm facing Kota. “I’m going to show you that you never, ever have to doubt me again. Like I said in the locker room. Let’s be a team again. Not even the Bullet Club could touch us, you know that.” Kenny always liked these secret, soft-voiced speeches, because he could be as corny and dramatic as he wanted. But sometimes, like now, he choked himself up a little. “I know. It’s crazy. It’s way too soon. We’ve been speaking to each other again for… a few hours? But I know…” He paused to make sure Kota was still sleeping, then continued softly, “If there’s even a small chance… I’ll wait for you to be ready. I’ll wait as long as you need.” He’d gotten on a roll, and even though he was essentially talking to himself, he was startled, both by how intense an admission that was, and how _true_ it was.

Kota was still sound asleep, and Kenny watched his face in the filtered light from outside. “Sometimes I don’t believe you’re real.” He nodded, satisfied that he could still conjure a bittersweetly stirring ending to his Touching Monologues. He kissed Kota softly on the cheek, and Kota actually did stir at that; he turned onto his side and pulled Kenny into the little spoon position. Kenny folded himself in against Kota, ready to drift back to sleep. _Oh._ He wiggled his butt a little to confirm what he thought he’d felt, and Kota, in his sleep, rocked his hips, pushing his erection against Kenny’s ass. _Oh._ Kenny chuckled to himself, “but so considerate when you’re awake, eh?” He was immediately hard; despite the heavy emotions, he’d had _this_ in the back of his mind since the locker room, when Kota’s answer to “ _let me suck your dick_ ” had been “ _will you come back to my hotel?_ ” In retrospect, Kenny wondered how he hadn’t fainted at that. Now he wasted no time gently moving Kota so he was on his back again. Kota didn’t stir.

He ran his hands lightly over Kota’s chest, letting his fingers move along the blanket-warm rises and ridges almost reverently, feeling each rib and muscle slide under his hands. He'd forgotten just how fucking amazing it felt to have his hands on the most beautiful man in the world, but as he softly moved his hands down further and further, fingers brushing lightly over achingly familiar soft skin… he remembered. Kota still didn’t move. Kenny drew his hands to Kota’s hips, thumbs on hip bones, and slowly tugged down the waistband of Kota’s sweatpants.

Kenny couldn’t help but smile to himself, this whole day had been familiar in a dreamlike way, and now here he was, faced with another viscerally familiar comfort. Kota’s dick was, of course, annoyingly lovely, just like everything else about him. He made a trail of light kisses on the soft skin between Kota’s hips, almost teasing himself as he felt Kota’s dick twitch against his cheek when he brushed it softly. But there was no reason to pace himself, not when this was all he’d wanted for the past few hours. One hand on Kota’s hip, and the other at the base of his cock, Kenny took as much as he could in his mouth, feeling it slide against his lips and the back of his mouth. He ran his tongue along the shaft, reveling in knowing exactly how to move, savoring the thrilling familiarity of it all.

Kota made a grunting noise, guttural and coarse, the sort he’d never make if he were awake. Kenny looked up to see that he still seemed to be asleep, but now he started rocking his hips slightly in time with Kenny’s movements. Kenny reached one hand around and grabbed Kota’s ass, pulling him in so he could feel that gorgeous, insistent, almost-choking pressure at the back of his throat. He increased his pace, and Kota, still seeming to be asleep, writhed and groaned softly, his breaths getting faster and punctuated by little _mmm_ s every few seconds. This was going to go quickly with no conscious thought involved.

Still, Kenny took time to watch Kota’s hips moving slow and fluid; the white light of the city alternately illuminating the soft suggestive angles of his hipbones, then the arching curves of his waist. Such beauty deserved careful attention, Kenny decided, bobbing his head more slowly, and pulling Kota toward him by the hips. Kota’s breathing got shallow and ragged, and his groans sounded almost pained. Everything looked colorless, accentuating the way the muscles around Kota's waist went taut, then relaxed in an odd rhythm. It was so gorgeous to watch, Kenny paused for a moment to trace a path of licks and kisses from Kota’s hip to his belly button, while Kota, still asleep, twisted the sheets in his hands and rocked his hips insistently for _more._ Kenny could only oblige, tracing his tongue around the head of Kota’s cock a few times before taking all of it back into his mouth at once. Kota threw back his head with a low moan; teeth clenched, hair spilled across the pillow, the stark light and shadow sliding along the lines of his throat and collarbone with each heavy breath. Now he was bucking his hips into Kenny’s face, making a quiet _ah_ noise with each thrust. He came almost gently, with a soft sigh and one final thrust of his hips. Kenny swallowed it all, and Kota gasped, now finally waking up. _I wish I could sleep that heavily just once in my life._

Kota had his hands over his face, trying to catch his breath and his bearings. Without opening his eyes, he reached down and pulled Kenny toward him by the hair. Slow and soft, he slid his arms around Kenny’s neck, finding Kenny’s wet lips with a sweet, barely-awake kiss. As his eyes fluttered open, he laughed sleepily and took Kenny’s face in his hands, kissing his cheeks gratefully like he was relieved to see it was all real. In the pretense-free moments of just-awake-ness, Kota seemed just as overwhelmed with bone-deep familiar comfort as Kenny felt. Kenny could only smile and watch him. Sleepy-faced in the pale light from outside, Kota looked even more familiar, even more like _his_ Kota.

“Mmm. Hi.” His sleepy croaky voice sounded both sexy and oddly tender. “You’re still very good at that.”

“How would you know? You didn’t even wake up until the money shot.”

“Yeah, but I was having a great dream.” He smiled weakly, then pulled Kenny’s back against him again. “I dreamed you were blowing me.” Kota’s sleepy laugh at his own bad joke was more adorable than any one person should be forced to endure, and Kenny’s heart squeezed to see that unguarded side that only he really knew.

Kenny, in turn, laughed in a way he knew only Kota had ever seen. “Ibutan, how crude!” he said reproachfully. “Please, I am a gentleman.”

With a speed that defied how asleep he was, Kota grabbed Kenny’s chin, tilting it backward just painfully enough to tease, just roughly enough to make Kenny’s hand grab insistently at Kota’s wrist. “No you’re not," Kota said softly, so close Kenny could feel breath skim his ear. “Remember?” He bent Kenny’s neck to the side, and raked his teeth across the bites and bruises he’d left earlier, sending an electric mix of sharp and achy pain into Kenny’s chest. “You’re shit at lying to me.”

Kenny closed his eyes, sucking in air through his teeth as a shiver rolled through him. He leaned his head back against Kota’s shoulder, finally breaking into a smile and quiet chuckle as Kota let go of his jaw to pull his hair, planting soft kisses on Kenny’s scraped and bruised throat.

“I still hate you.” Kota said flatly to Kenny’s shoulder, even as he wrapped his legs around Kenny’s and pulled him closer.

“I know.” Although Kota was being affectionate, Kenny knew he meant it; this was never going to be resolved in one night. Maybe it never would be. Kenny sighed resignedly. “I still love you.”

“I know.” Kota kissed Kenny’s temple.

Even though there was so much more to say, there was nothing more to say. They stayed like that for a while, still half-dressed, half aroused, and half asleep. After several minutes, Kenny wondered if Kota was still awake, so he asked softly, sounding more scared than he’d meant to, “why did you want me to come here?”

Kota shifted, still holding tight, and he sounded like he’d been dozing, “because I thought it was too risky for you to suck my dick on the locker room floor.” Kenny paused, just for a moment wondering if he’d been serious. Kota laughed softly, squeezing Kenny's shoulders.

“Well, good, because I risked getting jumped by the Bullet Club so I could come here and suck your dick.” They both giggled, and Kenny knew for a fact that this would not be funny if they weren’t together and exhausted. But they were, so it was. Another long but not uncomfortable silence filled the space between them, and Kenny reached a hand behind his head to find enough of Kota’s hair to play with in the dark.

Kota in turn tangled some fingers in Kenny’s curls. “Aside from the blowjob, though…” he laughed at his own joke again. “I remembered that we used to have this… ability… we could… make time wait. You know?” He spoke softly, like he was confessing a secret. “When we were together, it’s like we could pause every bad thing that was happening in the world, even bad things between us.”

Kenny nodded slowly; this phenomenon had never been lost on him.

Kota continued sleepily, “and we could just… step outside of it all, and remind ourselves we were… um... magic.” He sounded nervous, like he’d said too much. “You know?” he asked again.

Kenny had tried so many times not to think about how once-in-a-lifetime magical everything had felt with Kota, tried to convince himself it had just been puppy love, or mutual obsession. But Kota was right: it had always felt like together, they’d had superpowers. It felt irreplaceable, and Kenny could never fully forget it, no matter how desperately he’d wanted to. He and Kota, at their best, only needed to be together to be their own fortress, their own little pocket of time where nothing could hurt them, not even, it was now evident, each other.

Kota sighed and finished, “it wasn’t always healthy but sometimes it was the only thing that kept me alive.” Kenny shivered a little: he wasn’t sure if Kota had said it intentionally, but tonight, this… whatever it was… had possibly _literally_ kept Kenny alive. At the very least, away from anywhere the Bullet Club could touch him.

Kenny sighed at length, and turned onto his back, looking up at the ceiling, Kota’s arm still draped over his chest. “And you wanted to know if that was still true?” Kota just turned his head to look at Kenny. “Aside from the blowjob,” he paused to watch Kota crack an embarrassed smile. “I came here because…” even in the dark he could see Kota’s eyes, shining and piercing, like he’d know the second Kenny said anything even remotely untrue. _Fuck._ “I guess the same thing, in a way. Nothing’s ever felt right without you.” Tears welled unexpectedly in Kenny’s eyes again. He hadn’t thought about it, but those six words were the starkest distillation of the past three years he could have possibly come up with.

Kota turned onto his back so they were both staring at the ceiling. “So… it was real,” he said slowly, almost with resignation. “It’s still here.”

“It was,” Kenny agreed. “It is.” It felt like a certainty, a risk, an obligation, and the greatest gift, all at once. “What now?”

Kota turned to his side and snuggled up to Kenny’s chest, no longer able to fight off sleep. “There’s no rush, Kenny-tan,” he yawned. “I’ll still hate you tomorrow.” He kissed Kenny’s cheek, and was almost immediately asleep.

Kenny wrapped his arms and the blankets tightly around Kota’s shoulders, and smiled; in so many ways, _tomorrow_ was everything he could have asked for.


End file.
